Chapter 3 – Betrayal in the Shadows
After that day, the looks changed. People no longer just glanced at me—they stared, some with whispers, some with contempt. The cafeteria incident had marked me in their eyes, a "bad guy," someone to avoid or ridicule. I tried to forget Miashi, to bury the anger and resentment boiling inside me, but her name haunted my thoughts like a wound that wouldn't heal. I focused on my own life, avoiding her at all costs, yet I could still hear the faint whispers of my classmates talking about me in hallways and classrooms.
Days passed, and something unexpected happened. Our teacher, Mr. Tokara, began observing me more closely. At first, I thought he was simply keeping an eye out, helping me with schoolwork as he had always done. But then, during a late evening study session for the upcoming exams, I began to wonder why he seemed to care so much. "Why me?" I asked, hesitantly. "There are plenty of other students who need help… students with more potential than I do."
He laughed softly, the sound warm and confident, yet carrying a hint of mystery. "I can sense something special in you," he said. "I won't let a young soul like yours waste their life. I'll do everything I can to help you reach your potential."
I explained the situation with my parents, the constant neglect, the coldness at home, the feelings of being unwanted. He listened quietly, his eyes softening with sympathy. "If you want," he said, "you can stay with me. My wife would be thrilled to meet you—she's heard so much about you. She's always asking me about you."
That small offer, that moment of kindness, felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. For the first time in my life, I felt something I had never known—fatherly care, a warmth that made the years of neglect fade, even if just slightly. I had given up on the world, but Mr. Tokara seemed determined to keep hope alive in me.
It was getting late, and he offered me a ride home. I thanked him, my voice catching, and we left. When we arrived, my parents thanked him politely, smiles plastered on their faces, but I knew it was all an act. The masks slipped as soon as the door closed behind him. Their voices rose, scolding me for taking rides from strangers, warning me not to trust anyone. I tried to protest, telling them he was our class teacher, but their arguments drowned out any reason.
I remembered Mr. Tokara's words—that I could endure this, that I shouldn't lose hope. That memory became a small flame inside me, a light I clung to as I went upstairs to my room, ignoring the false anger from my step-parents.
The next day, we studied together again. As evening crept in, he mentioned passing by a convenience store on the way home. I nodded, thinking nothing of it. Inside, he bought instant ramen and a drink, and I was allowed to eat in the car. The warmth of the food, the simple kindness—it was almost overwhelming. I felt like I finally had a father figure who genuinely cared for me.
After finishing, he suggested taking a shortcut home. I felt strangely heavy, my eyelids drooping as fatigue overtook me. "I… I think I need a nap," I murmured. He nodded, telling me to rest, and before I fully drifted off, my seat belt clicked snugly around me.
When I woke up, everything felt wrong. My body was weak, my limbs heavy. I was still in the car, but the scenery outside had changed. The familiar streets of my neighborhood were gone. Instead, looming in front of me was a dilapidated building—an abandoned hospital. Its windows were shattered, walls cracked, and the fading sun cast long, eerie shadows across its facade.
The car door opened, and Mr. Tokara stepped in. His face held a mix of surprise and calculation. "Huh… supposed to last three hours. Guess I miscalculated the dosage," he muttered, retrieving a syringe from his suitcase. Panic surged through me, but my voice was gone, my body refusing to respond. With trembling hands, I tried to move, to scream, but it was useless. The world blurred as the last sliver of consciousness slipped away.
I awoke to dim fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The air smelled of mildew and rust, thick and suffocating. My limbs were restrained—hands and legs strapped to a cold metal hospital bed, my mouth gagged with tape. I struggled, panic clawing at my chest, but my movements were futile.
Across the room, three men in dark suits whispered among themselves, examining me as though I were property. Mr. Tokara stood beside them, calm, almost smug. My eyes darted to the corner, where old surgical tools and woodcutting instruments were stacked, their surfaces stained with dried blood. The sight made my stomach churn.
He noticed my terror, leaning close. "Don't be like that," he said softly, almost coaxing. "Yukiro… you're special. You'll make me a lot of money."
My heart raced. The realization of how deep the betrayal ran hit me with full force. The warmth, the kindness—it had all been a lie, a trap carefully orchestrated. My trust, my hope, everything I had clung to was twisted into a snare.
He picked up one of the tools, its edge catching the dim light. The sound of metal scraping echoed in the empty room, mingling with my shallow, ragged breaths. I felt smaller, weaker, completely at the mercy of people who saw me as nothing more than an object, a means to profit.
Tears blurred my vision as I lay there, restrained and helpless. The echoes of my earlier hope—the moments of fatherly kindness, the small comfort of a warm meal—were now tainted, replaced by the cold, unforgiving reality of betrayal.
For the first time, I felt truly powerless. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to escape, but my body refused. All I could do was watch, listen, and pray that somehow, some way, this nightmare would end.
And in that horrifying moment, I realized that life, as I had known it, was over.
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